


past; summer; london calling.

by namelikeafairytale, organizedcure (namelikeafairytale)



Series: #pornywrimo [in which joe is confused.] [3]
Category: Inception (2010) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namelikeafairytale/pseuds/namelikeafairytale, https://archiveofourown.org/users/namelikeafairytale/pseuds/organizedcure





	past; summer; london calling.

**LONDON~ a year and some months ago.**

So, Edward Thomas Fucking Hardy's in London on the corner of some street and some other bleeding street he could care less about. And his best friend, Joseph Leonard Gordon-Levitt, that prat, is in America, probably asleep in his tiny-ass bed. And yeah, Tom's a little in lust with the guy, but there's nothing he could do about it, being in sodding London of all places. And it isn't like Joe is that way inclined, that prick. So, maybe he isn't being fair, what with calling Joseph all these names, but he feels better thinking about how Joe's head just explodes into nothing, than to think about Joe's mouth on his dick. He has such a gorgeous mouth. Certainly worthy enough to-

 _Fuckfuckfuck._

 _Oh, 'fuck' indeed._

 _Don't think about him. Think about Dad._

His dad's an arsehole, but that isn't anything new. The house feels like it, though. Since he and his mother left the continent, he hasn't been back here. And it's only been a handful of years-- what? six?-- at the most. He feels out of place. Sure he fits in with the fashion, and the accent, and the impeccable way he can make tea. But he doesn't hush up when it comes to sex, he doesn't like biscuits or crumpets, or whatever, and oh yeah, he fucking hates London.

  
He hates this whole remarrying shit his dad is going on about. I mean, the woman's nice enough. She isn't as nice as his mum but she's not a complete vapid whore. And she's nowhere as beautiful as his mom, but she isn't bad-looking. Her daughter's another story. The woman is fucking gorgeous. It's almost a shame they're going to be legally related in a matter of weeks. Not that a little thing like 'step-sister' really matters to Tom.

But Tom is damn certain he wouldn't need more than a couple days to bed her. Not with the way she'll pretend like he doesn't exist when he's swimming laps downstairs, but is caught looking away whenever he comes up for air. Not when she makes it a point to be as scantily-clad as possible whenever he's home.

If it weren't for Joe he probably would have at least fingered her by now. But he remembers the tone in Joe's voice when he described her over the phone a couple days ago. He hadn't meant to be particularly vulgar when he was talking to Joe, but he didn't want to seem desperate. And he knows, somehow, had the silence lingered, he would have said something about how he 'hates London and just wants to go home to Joe.' And that would have not settled well, so vulgarity it was. And it was hard at first, because Tom isn't that kind of guy. He's actually well-liked, and polite, and since he's already tootin' his own horn, might as well include that he's quite charming.

"Yeah, uh, she sounds hot, but man, isn't she like your step-sister?" Joe asked.

"Not yet." Tom implied.

"Hmm, right."

And that was pretty much the end of that conversation.

Tom had only been here a week, but the London he knew as a kid, and the London he was discovering now were two completely different entities. For one, he never paraded around London, as he was doing now, unaccompanied when he was a kid, and two, he had a credit card. He bought a couple hundred dollars worth in clothes, since his dad insisted that he needn't bring too much luggage. And he splurged on a beautiful pair of loafers for next term.

The driver that's been taking him places had to use the loo a couple minutes ago, and Tom had himself dropped off near a bridge on the Thames with a perfect viewing of the Millennium Wheel. And call him sappy, or even romantic, but he also splurged on a souvenir for Joe.

He pulled the camera out of his messenger bag and held it in his hands. Cost him a good 500 pounds, but he had money to spend, and he wanted something special, and it was pretty special. He pushed a button to turn it on and swallowed.

Tom was never one for being self-conscious, but then again, he never used to be in love with his best friend. He wore a white tee-shirt and some tight-fitting jeans. He had an inkling that it wouldn't really matter what he was wearing, Joe wouldn't care, but he still felt insecure.

"Hey Joe." Tom could feel his cheeks flushed and only hoped that Joe would chalk it up to the heat. It wasn't too hot in London but Joe didn't need to know that.

"So, what you're seeing behind me is the, uh, London Eye. Back when my parents were together, they'd bring me here often. And we'd go on the ferris wheel." Tom pauses to look back at the ride in question.

"So, yeah, it was yanno, younger, cute Tom, and younger, not-as-cute Tom's mum and dad, and up we'd go. And maybe, I dunno, I'll take you up one day. And I don't know, it'll be nice." He cleared his throat.

 _You sound like a right idiot. Stop stumbling over your own tongue._

"Um, you're probably wondering what this is, and why I've given you a camera." Tom pulls a hand through his hair and continues, "Think of this as my way of not dying of boredom, here, without you. It's kind of like you're here, except you aren't making fun of me and you're very very quiet. You know what, I like you like this," he raised an eyebrow and scowled. "And there's way too many people looking at me, so I'm gonna go. Uh--" And he stopped recording.

Tom closed his eyes, and turned around to lean on the railing. He held the camera tightly and sighed.

\---

Joe had gone to bed, promptly, almost five hours ago, but here he was at 3:00 in the morning, suddenly awake. He had a dream, something about boats and a storm, but it was all fleeting in his mind and he picked up his phone and held down the number 2. There wasn't a particular reason why he needed to call Tom. Or a reason as to why it had to be this late. It only rang twice.

"Hullo," and the inflection in Tom's voice rose towards the end of the greeting, he too was apparently confused by the phone call.

"Hey," Joe said roughly, his voice still muddled with sleepiness.

"Joe?"

"Tom."

"Mate, isn't it almost three a.m. over there?"

"Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you. Whatcha doin'?" The end of which got caught in a sweeping yawn, and Joe smacked his lips, waiting for Tom to reply.

He waited a couple seconds longer, and thought that if Tom didn't reply soon, he'd probably fall asleep, "Tom?"

"Yeah, I'm here, um, er nothing. Just got a bit of shopping done. Um, heading to the household now, my driver just pulled up."

"You have your own driver?"

"He's not 'my' driver, Joseph. He's my father's, but he's kind enough to take me out."

"Zee hot?" Joe asked. And Tom, in all his efficacy as trying to sound not-startled and extremely curious had to ask for clarification on what Joe just said.

"Wot?"

"I know you. Is he hot?" And how Joe managed to sound like he wasn't on the verge of sleep was lost on even himself.

"Joseph. The man is, like, 35. He has kids. You're ridiculous. And no, ugh, I've known George since I was a kid." Joe smirked and rubbed his face comfortingly.

"Me doth think the lady-Tom protests too much."

"I think you only called me to see if even in your sleep-addled brain you could make fun of me."

"I think I could just live the rest of my life making fun of you, Tom, and probably be really content."

And after a moment, Tom said, "Yeah, me too."

\---

"I like making fun of you. You're perfect to," but this is when Tom chose to stop responding and just listen to the way Joe's words tripped over each other. And how each breathy sigh and yawn worked its way from Tom's ear, messing up his brain, and reaching the pits of his stomach, fluttering about in between his organs. The words were no longer important, just the sound of them, and the roughness of each vowel's journey out of Joe's throat.

"-but who could blame George? I wouldn't."

And Tom could be fucked to find a reason not to imagine himself lying in bed with Joe, like that afternoon not too long ago, but this time, sans clothing, and fear, and meddlesome parents that just happen to barge in. Just Tom wrapped around the curve of Joe's back as the other boy arched into his warm skin. Joe wasn't talking on the phone anymore, just breathing, deeper and deeper.

He closed his eyes, shutting out the moving images outside the town car window, and inhaling with every breath Joe took.

"Anyway, he's probably not," a yawn from Joe, and Tom had the urge to yawn, too, but held it back, "your type. Thank god. 'Cause then, I'd have to go o'er there and beat 'em up."

"My knight in shining armour." Tom snidely replied. He was already too engorged with all the implications Joe made. How he wouldn't blame George for wanting to snog Tom. And how Tom was perfect for being made fun of, if only because he did it for Joe. And how if there was a girl-version of Tom, he'd probably choose her for a girlfriend. That last confession didn't hurt as much as you would think.

"Heh, if you say so."

And Tom just had to ask, "Why are you telling me all this?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm pretty vulnerable when I'm sleepy. Bad Tom. You shouldn't have taken advantage of me when I'm like this."

Tom laughed at the way he knew Joe hadn't meant that sexually, but it didn't matter. Tom was already hard, if only slightly, and getting his mind out of the gutter now would be near impossible.

 _For fuck's sake. Just from a fucking phone call._

The car had stopped, and Tom grabbed his messenger, placing it in front of his crotch, _ooh, how subtle_. He mouthed a quiet thank you to George, and walked through the parlour.

"Sorry, just got to the house. You should go back to sleep," Tom said.

"S'okay," Joe coughed and continued, "How's London treating you?"

Tom unbuckled his belt at the top of the stairs, knowing everyone else was out, and kicked off his shoes as he entered his room.

"S'alright. Miss my mum. Miss yo- I miss you. Hanging out, you know? And I think I'm coming down with something." He carefully withdrew the messenger bag and placed it on the giant chest of drawers. It was starting to go down. _Thank you, Jesus_.

"Aw, poor, Tommy baby, are you catching a cold?"

And if Joe hadn't just woken up from a couple hour's sleep, he probably would not have sounded as provocative and slurred and incredibly hot. Tom palmed his cock over his pants, he hadn't even realized he'd done it until Joe continued, "There, there, just tell Joe what's wrong and he'll make you feel all better."

Tom wasn't even sure he could fucking speak, let alone spit out his symptoms.

"You have n-no idea what you do to me, Joseph." And he could be damned if Joe realized exactly what he meant.

Joe lets out a guttural laugh, low and pliant to Tom's ears. It sounds almost heady. Shit. He presses harder and quickens his pace, his hips can't help but lean up, erratically. He sits on the king-sized mattress, leaning on the edge of the headboard. It digs into his shoulder.

"You're not my mother. Call me Joe, you freak."

"Joe," he whispers, and then louder, more solid, less shaky, "Joe." _Joe Joe Joe Fucking, jesus, oh christ, Joe._

Tom drops the phone and with one hand, he's touching himself, squeezing his dick. He's gripping himself hard, sliding up, listening to the obscene sounds he's making, and he slicks his hand back down, and he can feel the hair rubbing against his wrist and then he feels himself, warm and wet and still hard between his fist. He's fucking up into his hand and he thinks of Joe's mouth, for the fiftieth time, and the way Joe's eyes would probably fucking sparkle up at him as he opens up and swallows Tom whole. He thinks of Joe's hollowed cheeks and all the crazy swirls he would undoubtedly be making with his tongue on Tom. And with his other hand, he traces up and down his thigh, but remembers that Joe's on the phone and he has to make this extremely quick. He bites the fleshy part of his palm and imagines Joe's shoulder in his mouth, and he's squeezing even harder and moving up and down and up and up and--

 _This is so fucking embarrassing.  
_  
He comes, hard and sticky when he remembers Joe's smile and his lips and ' _Tommy baby_.' He jerks up into his fist three more times, and slowly breathes out, trying to steady his heart. The mess can wait, right now, Joe's still on the bleeding phone.

"Hey, sorry about that, um, the phone just-" but Tom notices that Joe is very much snoring. And he's all too relieved to notice the loneliness creeping up on him, much less linger on the way it seeps into his chest.

He thinks about texting Joe, but decides not to, instead, uses his bedsheet to rub his stomach clean and listens to the other boy sleep for a while.


End file.
